


Everyone Needs a Break Sometimes

by StonyAvengerGirl16 (CharmedBritannia)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Baby!Tony, Blankets, Daddy!Steve, Diapers, Established Relationship, Infantilism, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play, Pacifiers, Plushies, Wetting, i'm not sorry at all
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-28
Packaged: 2018-04-03 06:17:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4090147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CharmedBritannia/pseuds/StonyAvengerGirl16
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark is, while no longer CEO, is still the mind behind Stark Industries. Not only that, he's also an Avenger, and the Avenger's co-leader, technician, inventor, and mechanic all at once.</p><p>Steve Rogers is a man out of time. But he still carries the title of Captain America, and all the weight that comes with it. He's now the leader of the Avengers, and therefor be level-headed and steady, while also dealing with his loss and adapting to the future, with all it's drastic changes.</p><p>They both seem to be the two men above all; staring all obstacles (including death) square in the face and punching their way through without breaking a sweat.</p><p>But everyone needs a break sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, need to clear a few things up.
> 
> Tony, while in his headspace, is about 20 months old, maybe 24. But he may speak simple, full words. He's a genius, remember? And it's my whatever this is so *dons Loki's helmet* I do what I want.
> 
> And Steve may seem a _little_ depressed at first, but if you expect someone to be tossed into the future and come out totally chipper and alright, I unashamedly call BS.
> 
> So there. Read on if you like.

\-------

Tony Stark and Steve Rogers were extremely influential men.

 

They were heroes; they stared death in the face and fought if off every other week. One was a genius, billionaire philanthropist whose inventions made him rich beyond belief, who then proceeded to write enormous checks to charities and fund and co-lead the Avengers. The other is a WWII hero who sacrificed himself to save many millions of people, was released from a cryogenic sleep 70 years later, and immediately reclaimed his place as a soldier on the front lines against evil that almost no one else dared face, leading the Avengers through countless battles of good vs. evil, life vs. death, and peace vs. chaos.

 

Yes, they were men that may as well have ruled the world, given how many they influenced, how much they sacrificed, and how dedicated they were to protecting it.

\-------

Tony Stark and Steve Rogers were still human.

 

They felt fatigue. They felt pain. They felt distress. They felt anxiety.

 

Tony Stark was weighed down by his duties. His mind never slept, and his ideas never ceased. There was always _something._ Something to be created. Something to be improved. The future constantly rushed forward, and Tony Stark always stayed hot on its heels. He had many sleepless nights, whether they were from nightmares or a full workload. On top of his sleep-deprivation was a constant jet-lag from country hopping, whether for the Avengers or for SI. He was also weighed down by his own self-image and self-worth. He felt the need to prove himself a changed man, but ironically would never accept that he ever did. Deep down was a vulnerable soul who craved affection, love, acceptance, and peace, but was crushed by  hostile thoughts who always kept it away, saying it didn't deserve it, and that it never would.

 

Steve Rogers was weighed down by his title. He sometimes felt that he and Captain America were separate entities. Captain America was a national icon. He was a figure-head; a fallen soldier that came back to life. People cheered for him, and adored him. But that was Captain America. Deep down in a small, bitter place in his soul, he sometimes wished he wasn't. He would be forever grateful for the gift he was given. He would always gladly fight the good fight; to keep the world safe from those who sought to control or destroy. But sometimes, he wished he were like Natasha and Clint. Known, but understated. They kept the world safe, and kept themselves out of the spotlight, where they wished to be. He would even settle for being called by his name. Thor was a given. But people never used Iron Man to address Tony Stark out of battles. He knew that he had once also been considered separate from his alter-ego, but he never once believed it himself. He was Iron Man. He and the suit were one. He fought tooth and nail to keep it that way. For just _once, he_ wanted to be considered that way. It was always _Captain_ this and _Captain_ that. No one even used his _first name_ unless he corrected them _multiple times._ Steve Rogers wasn't considered. He was expected to roll right past the fact that he had been thrown _seventy damn years into the future_ because he was Captain America. So once in a while, when he was alone in the middle of the night, he turned his back to the uniform and shield hanging by the closet, and slept on his other side, ignoring the faint chill that always seemed to settle in his bones.

\-------

 

In the beginning, neither men could stand the other. They were like fire and ice. You could never mix them without destroying them both. Steve reminded Tony of what he had never gained, and Tony reminded Steve of all that he'd lost. So they clashed. They argued, and fought, and snarled, and screamed. It was always either silent like being encased in ice, or violent like an erupting volcano. They had never gone to blows, but the words that they yelled sufficed. Neither forgot the hissed words on the Helicarrier that one day.

 

"Everything good about you came out of a bottle."

"Big man in a suit of armor. Take that away, and what are you?"

 

They had stabbed each other in the souls, taking their worst thoughts and feelings and shoving them right into the holes they made. This lasted for a long, long time.

\-----

They had bonded on a sleepless night. Dreams of caves and space and red and ice were driven off by the blooming companionship brought by mutual understanding. They began to seek each other out when they struck, and then during daylight. It took a while, but the hostility was soon replaced by tranquility, and eventually, love.

\-----

 People wondered how they did it. How they kept going no matter how hectic things got. Despite the chain of events that would drive other people six feet under and then some. They were asked their secret time and time again, and they always responded they same way.

 

"We just take some time off. Everybody needs a break sometimes."

 

And it _was_ true. But what went on _during_ said break was an entirely different level of secret.

 

And even if they looked, they would never find the blue and gold bag hidden in Steve's closet.

\-------


	2. Chapter 2

\-------

Their days off were sacred.

 

There was an unspoken rule in the tower; that every month the weekend marked on JARVIS' calendar was theirs. During  said weekend, no questions were to be asked, no requests made, and no invitations delivered, formal or otherwise. They both hurried to finish whatever they were working on, be it paperwork, meetings, or whatever. Barring the imminent destruction of the universe (that had happened once; they had both been cranky as fuck (which was expected of Tony, but Steve probably caused some agents to pass out) that they had to reschedule their weekend. Clint joked that even villains knew to check the calendar before they did anything, because they might get injured during a regular fight, but they will get the absolute _shit_ beaten out of them during their weekend. It always was scheduled for when they were both stretched their tightest. Tony had bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, and Steve had a constant scrunch between his eyebrows. But it never failed; they would emerge the following Monday looking much better than they had on Friday. No one knew what they did during their weekend. The most common assumption was sex; lots and lots of sex. Clint always waggled his eyebrows on Thursday night, and whistled until Natasha punched him. They never really said that was what they were doing, so it wasn't really _lying,_ but Steve blushed a little at the teasing (only a little), and Tony just raised his eyebrow and smirked.

 

They did it in Steve's room because, even if he never admitted it, Tony felt more secure there. The penthouse belonged to the Other Tony, the one who usually inhabited it. That Tony had stress and duties that he didn't want to think about or handle. There, in Steve's apartment, he wasn't expected to be hardened. He could be vulnerable without fear, because Steve was there. It didn't just benefit Tony, though. It comforted Steve that this apartment belonged to Steve Rogers, the man. He didn't have to smile and pretend everything was all right; there, it truly _was_ all right.

\-------

The blue and gold bag was hidden in a safe behind Steve's clothing. They knew it was sort of excessive, seeing as how JARVIS was perfectly capable of keeping intruders out, but it put Tony's mind at ease, so. The safe had a thirty-two digit passcode, and would let out an electric shock every time it wasn't put in correctly. The bag itself was obviously a diaper bag from the outside, and a look inside confirmed it. Diapers, bibs, pacifiers, bottles, etc. were all in there. Underneath the bag were several pairs of comfortable footie pajamas in an adult size. On top of it was a soft, red blanket adorned with ducks, which was wrapped around several containers of toys, books, and art supplies. And on top of it all was a soft, brown stuffed bear with bright, brown marbles for eyes.

\--------

The contents of the bag had been accumulated over quite a few weekends. It had taken a while, because when they were hesitantly starting out, Tony had been very hesitant. Steve had refused to push him, even if it meant going slowly for a few months before he got completely comfortable. They'd discussed Tony's headspace age, what was allowed to start out with, and a safe word before anything really began. It had just kind of happened that Tony was younger; he craved attention, affection, and an allowance to be vulnerable, while Steve craved to be useful in a way that didn't require donning a uniform.

 

Tony had originally started at four, but it became apparent that even at that age he had already begun to shield himself. Steve had been heartbroken, and pleaded with Tony to at least give being younger a shot. His age had dropped bit by bit until it had stopped at just under two. This proved that Howard had removed many of young Tony's comforts far, far too soon. He would always have deep-rooted anger at his old friend for that, along with the constant comparison of his son to him, which was another reason Tony had hesitantly revealed during one of their late night rendezvous that he was so harsh to him. But by assuring Tony that he wouldn't mock or take advantage of his insecurities gave him the much needed chance to let down his walls.

\-----


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OK. I swear that this is where the actual stuff happens. Really. Or at least, starts to.

\------

It was at about eight A.M (Steve slept late on their weekends, no need to wake up early) That Steve heard a faint whimper, which turned into a full out cry. He smiled. It wasn't the choked scream of an ending nightmare; no, this was the cry of an infant who had been woken rather rudely by something. That meant that Tony had entered his headspace while he slept, then. He felt a small patch of warm moisture and sat up. Tony had wet himself during the night, it seemed. It was for this purpose that he had put a plastic cover on the mattress Thursday night. It happened sometimes, because Tony had entered his headspace while he was asleep next to him. They only put the diaper on once he entered it, because it was difficult for him to relinquish that much control while he was out of it. Steve picked Tony up, holding his head to the cradle of his neck while bouncing him lightly up and down.

 

"Shhh. It's okay, sweetie. Daddy's got you. You woke up a little earlier than you wanted to, huh?"

 

Tony wrapped his arms around Steve's neck, his cries turning into sniffles as he calmed down. He nodded slowly, burrowing further into Steve's neck.

 

"It's ok. We'll get you into the bath, and then into a nice, soft, fresh diaper, ok? No need to cry, sweetie."

 

Grabbing the diaper bag on the way there, Steve walked Tony to the bathroom, where he pressed a small button that triggered a changing table to smoothly slide out of the wall. He laid Tony down, keeping an eye on him, while he drew a bath. Tony had a instinctive fear of water, so he had to make sure it wasn't too much and that it was nice and warm. While the tub filled, he stripped Tony of the soiled boxers and tank top, picking him up gently and placing him in the tub. He flinched a little, but Steve kept his hands on his hips as he lowered him, offering a steady reassurance. When Tony was fully seated, Steve took a soft sponge out of the bag, along with a mild-smelling baby soap and shampoo. He gently washed Tony all over, paying special attention to his bottom half (it was okay to do this, because their was no sexual aspect of this). After he was cleaned to his satisfaction, and rinsed off, he gently tilted his head back and poured water onto his hair. Tony gave off a small whimper, but Steve rubbed his back with his free hand, quieting him. After he was done, he let the water out, and picked him up under him arms. Tony huddled into Steve once more, calmer now that he was clean. Steve placed a small kiss to the top of his head.

 

"Much better, huh, sweetie? After we put your diaper on, which color jammies do you want?"

 

Tony was quiet for a moment, but spoke up, having made up his mind.

 

"Wan' red."

 

Steve smiled. The red jammies were a short-sleeved onesie, covered in little yellow stars, and one of Tony's favorites. He placed him on the table, grabbing the special towels they used only for this. After patting him dry, he thoroughly dried his hair, leaving it nice and soft. Steve always thought he looked extremely cute like this; hair in it natural curls, and a calm, sleepy look on his face. Once he was done, he put a little baby lotion on, before grabbing a fresh diaper. He gently held up his legs, and placed the diaper under his bottom, between his legs, and strapped it down on the sides. He jogged over to the chair by the door, and picked out the onesie. After he put it on, he gently picked Tony up again, holding him up by his bottom, hand on the back of his head.

 

"There. All better. You want to go back to sleep, sweetie?"

 

Tony nodded.

 

"Wanna. Sleepy."

 

He bounced him lightly on the way to the locked guest bedroom, and JARVIS smoothly opened up the door (he didn't speak during their weekend, to keep Tony as deep, comfortable, and content in his headspace as possible). Inside was Tony's nursery. Tony was a little hesitant at first to design it, but later decided it was safe to do so, and would not be judged. It was painted a soft blue color, with a special Tony-sized crib by the window. It was plush as could be, and was shaped especially so that Tony could sleep without being bothered by the arc reactor. He placed him into it, pulling his blanket over him, and giving him his stuffed bear (it was Tony's favorite possession in and out of his headspace, though he'd never vocalize it). Tony brought his thumb to his mouth, which Steve pulled away. Before Tony could start whimpering, he placed a red pacifier against his lips, which Tony immediately latched onto and proceeded to suck on. Having decided it was an acceptable replacement for his thumb, he let his eyes droop until he was asleep again.

 

Steve 'aww'ed at the adorable sight before closing the door a bit and going to change his sheets.

\-------

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony has fully entered his headspace. Baby!Tony is adorable, and Daddy!Steve is very attentive.

 

 

\-----

Tony had fully entered his headspace surprisingly early. It made Steve happy, because it meant that Tony trusted him to take care of him. It made him feel needed as Steve, not Captain America. It felt fantastic. 

 

While Tony was sleeping in a little more, Steve had decided to start breakfast. Another thing that had been apparently taken from Tony was being bottle-fed, judging by his willingness to use them. He knew Tony would be awake soon, so he started to prepare a bottle. He warmed milk on the stove, and stirred in a hint of vanilla and cinnamon. Once he deemed it hot enough, he poured the mixture into the bottle. He kept a supply of the milk in the fridge to be warmed up later. Shortly after he had put the rubber lid back onto it, he heard Tony start to whimper through the baby monitor, getting progressively louder each second until he began to sniffle. He hurried to the nursery, picking him up out of the crib, rubbing his back.

 

"Shhh. I'm right here sweetie. No need to cry. What's wrong? Is Daddy's little sweetie-pie hungry?"

 

Tony sniffled some more and nodded, speaking around his pacifier.

 

"Hungry, Daddy."

"Well, it's all alright. Daddy just made a fresh bottle a milk, just for you."

"Hungry."

"I know, sweetie. Almost there."

 

Steve grabbed the bottle off the counter, which Tony immediately made grabbing motions with his hands. Steve smiled at his enthusiasm, and strolled over to the rocking chair in the living room. He sat down, placing Tony across his knees, with one arm behind his upper back and using the opposite hand to expertly pull the pacifier out of his mouth and place the bottle up to his lips, allowing Tony to suck to his little heart's content. They sat like this for a few minutes until Tony finished his bottle. He pulled the bottle out, setting it on the floor. He then brought Tony up to his shoulder, patting him on the back until he let out a small burp.

 

Smiling, he stood up, and walked over to the couch. He gingerly set Tony down on his special seat (it was cushioned with a Y-strap to hold him in place, and rocked a little) and strapped him in. He turned on the TV, setting the channel on some show with a yellow sponge (?) that he seemed to like. Tony squealed with joy, and Steve gave him his pacifier and bear which he took eagerly and settled in to watch the show. Steve grinned and left to go make his own breakfast.

\------

Several episodes later, Tony started shifting. Steve recognized this, and went over to unclick his seat. Sure enough, there was a tell-tale warmth on his bottom, showing that he needed a change. He carried him back to the bathroom, and wiped, powdered, and put on a fresh diaper. He decided it was time to turn off the TV, so he carried him back to the living room, grabbing one of the containers as he went. He clicked off the TV (and 'aww'ed a bit a Tony's slightly pouting face). But he knew it was coming. His eyes narrowed, he started to thrash, he spat out his pacifier, and began to _wail._

 

Steve thanked God that this apartment was sound-proofed, because Tony was really letting it go. HIs face was turning red, and angry tears rolled down his cheeks. Steve wasn't affected much, though. Tony had at least one every weekend, and he learned that it was best to just let him get it out. Sure enough, Tony's wailing died down a little, and his thrashing stopped. He looked at Steve with angry, teary eyes.

 

"Wan' cartoons!"

"You know the rules, sweetie."

"Wan' cartoons, Daddy!"

"And you know those only come back on after lunchtime. The shows in between aren't meant for babies, sweetie."

"But Daddy!"

"No, Tony."

 

At the use of his real name, Tony's eyes widened, and his angry tears became positively distressed ones, and his wails became sobs. Steve immediately felt extremely guilty. Even though he knew he needed to be firm at that moment, his heart broke at that face. He _knew_ Tony liked his pet-name, because it made him feel loved and wanted. Good God, he felt terrible. He bounced Tony up and down, shushing him and reassuring him.

 

"It's okay, sweetie. I know. Daddy's sorry. It's alright. No need to cry, your Daddy's here. I'll always be here, sweetie. What do I always tell you?"

 

Tony sniffed and spoke in a quiet voice.

 

"Daddy love his sweetie."

"That's right. Sweetie loves his Daddy, and Daddy loves his sweetie."

"Daddy love me?"

 

Steve felt pure anger at Howard for making Tony so unsure that people could ever love him.

 

"Daddy will always love his sweetie."

"Always?"

"Always. Because who are you?"

 

Tony sniffled again, wrapped his arms and burrowed his head into Steve's neck.

 

"I'm Daddy's sweetie."

"That's right."

\------

After that rather emotional outburst, Steve decided Tony was ready for another nap. He reached into the bag for a fresh pacifier, which Tony accepted in a second. He brought Tony back to his nursery, and within seconds he was asleep again. He figured he had about two and a half hours (which was the usual length of Tony's afternoon nap), so he decided to catch up on some reading. He was a few pages in when the worst thing that could happen during their weekend happened: his SHIELD phone rang.

 

Of fucking course.

 

Fury had insisted that their 'fucking monthly vacations' weren't 'as important as world fucking security, Rogers.' So he had been required to leave his phone on, which he said he would. But then he shocked Fury and all the other agents around when he flat out threatened Fury that his 'damn phone better not ring, Fury.' But leave it to him to disregard all of his warnings and call him anyway.

 

This better be extremely damn important. He had no idea who he was fucking with right now.

\--------

 

 

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy!Steve is protective, and Baby!Tony meets his new babysitter.

 

\-------

Steve answered his phone quickly, and spoke in a hissing voice.

 

"What do you want, Fury?"

"Rogers, you better check that insubordinate fucking tone."

"Sir, you need to lower your voice."

"Why?"

"Please just....do it."

 

He prayed he would. If Tony overheard his and Fury's conversation, he would bounce out of his headspace quick as a snap. Tony needed to rest. 

 

"Not until you tell me why."

 

He refrained from telling him "so you don't wake up my sweetie." That was Daddy Steve. Fury didn't need to know about him. He wanted to rest now too, damnit.

 

"Look. I'm watching some documentaries to catch up on what I missed. And I want to focus, seeing as how I really don't want to watch them again."

"I thought you were doing all right, Captain."

"I am. They're just  boring."

 

He _did_  watch some during their weekends, but it was because he could learn without focusing so he could keep an eye and ear on his sweetie.

 

"Whatever, Rogers. There's something I need you to do."

"I told you, Fury. No side jobs during our weekend. The alarm would have gone off it there was something serious."

"It's fucking important, Captain."

"What is it, sir?"

"We are currently trying to come to a compromise with another international security agency regarding our boundary lines. We've been attempting to persuade them into believing that we would only use the new access with good intentions, but they are still very distrustful of our agency."

 

Steve sighed. Of course they were. And he'd bet anything (except Tony's love) that Fury had gone into that meeting expecting blind faith, and was extremely irritated that he didn't get it. It was hard to muster up any sympathy for him, because he could understand pretty damn well why they were so hesitant. Good or bad, Fury kept his intentions and decisions shaded, and was secretive about his means to get to the end. Tony had exposed one of his major bad decisions proceeding the Battle of New York, showing that he planned to use the very thing that they were trying to keep out of evil's hands for his own destructive purposes, calling it a 'contingency plan'.

 

Not to mention the fact that the people he reported to thought an acceptable solution was to nuke a city, hell, a _state_ that millions called home.

 

That probably had something to do with it.

 

"I get your situation, Fury, but I don't know what any of this has to do with me."

"Well, you're trustworthy, Rogers. Come in and do your whole wholesome, national hero speech and show them that they can trust us."

 

In a flash, Steve saw newsreels, dancing girls, stages, lights, and those damn tights.

 

"You want me to what?"

"Do like you did on tour in your olden days. Convince people to support us."

 

He couldn't believe it. He had fought his way out of the damn reputation of being a dancing monkey, and now Fury wanted him to come back in again? This was why he needed a break. So he could breathe, and deal with crap like this without screaming at people and breaking down walls in frustration. Seriously? Where did that headache come from? He wasn't even sure he could _get_ headaches. May it was a phantom pain brought on by too much stress.

 

"No."

"What?"

"I said no. I had to deal with parading around in tights on stage once Fury. I'm sure as hell not going to do it twice."

"I can't believe this. It's Stark, isn't it? He's rubbing off on you, damnit I knew that fucker would-"

 

Steve saw red. Tony didn't _rub off_ on him. He helped him realize that being a 'national icon' didn't mean that you couldn't allow yourself to take time and re-center yourself. That despite how superhuman your shoulders might be, they still couldn't bear everything. He wasn't Atlas; he didn't have to carry the world 24/7. And how dare Fury make it seem that because he taught him that, that he had tainted him somehow.

 

"He did _no such thing."_

"Oh, really? before you entered your relationship with Stark, you would have been on your way by now."

"Exactly. Tony taught me that taking a break so you don't run yourself ragged isn't anything to be ashamed of; that it doesn't make you lazy. And I taught him that he didn't have to prove himself to anybody. So we are both taking a break, Fury, because we _both_ need to, not because I'm _humoring_ him."

"Fine. But this is still a fucking order, Rogers. You need to get your ass up on this Helicarrier, or agents will be knocking on your door to escort you."

 

Steve broke into a cold sweat. He couldn't leave Tony. Not when he was in his headspace. He would come back up even more stressed then before, and it would take him much, _much_ longer to enter it again.

 

"I can't, Fury-"

"Why not?"

"Tony is very tired, and I don't want to leave him."

" _Tony_ is a grown-ass man, and will live if you leave-hold on."

 

He heard muffled voices, and after a few seconds Coulson spoke up. It had been quite a shock to find out that the man was still alive, but he had been welcomed back with  open arms after that shock wore off (and added on to the list of Why Tony Didn't Trust Fury, which is a very long list).

 

"Captain."

"Phil, how are you?"

"Scar still aches quite a bit, but it's not as severe. How are you?"

"Upset that Fury's interrupting my weekend. Why did you need to speak with me?"

"It's Tony, right?"

 

The cold sweat turned into a hot one.

 

"What's Tony?"

"You can't leave him as he is, right? And you don't want to bring him up, either."

"I...don't understand."

"Yes, you do, and it's fine. I'm not judging you at all."

 

Steve let his shoulders slump. Phil _had_ proven himself trustworthy...he hoped Tony wouldn't be angry at him for this.

 

"...Yes. Tony's very, _very_ young right now, and he's very relaxed like this. I can't stand bringing him up before the weekend's over. And...it helps me too, you know. Makes me feel important...needed...depended on. Without having to dress up in red, white, and blue, dodge explosions, and still have to do PR events on top of that."

"I get it. How about this. I come over and take care of Tony while you're away. I'll tell Fury that you'll only be gone for three and-a-half hours, tops. That should be all you need to get there, get the compromise going, and come back home."

"But...I just...Phil, you don't understand. He's my little sweetie right now, and I can't imagine leaving him."

"I understand better than you think. I did the same thing with Clint when we first requited him. He was paranoid and skittish, and he needed to be calm during training and missions. So I did it in a more...therapeutic way. I had him relax in an empty room that he was allowed to check over for weapons and traps. He kept his eyes on the door at all times. Bit by bit, he relaxed a little faster each time, until I was able to sit in there with him. He only ever dropped to about ten, but it did help curb some of his more hair-trigger tendencies."

 

Steve nodded. He was still a little uneasy about this...but if it would get Fury off of their backs enough for them to be able to enjoy the rest of their Friday and weekend, well, he would have to.

\-----

He packed his Captain America suit and shield into a bag, so that Tony wouldn't be able to see them. He scrubbed a hand across his face. This was supposed to be Daddy and Tony time, not Steve the Dancing Monkey In Tights time. He was zipping up the bag when Tony woke up. He threw the bag onto the couch, and trotted over to the nursery. Tony had just started rolling over, and looked adorably disorientated. He picked him up by his armpits, and Tony immediately wrapped himself around him. Steve leaned down to grab the pacifier that had fallen out of his mouth while he slept, and offered it to Tony again.

 

"Daddy's sweetie looks much better. You needed a nap, didn't you?"

 

Tony nodded into the cradle of Steve's neck.

 

"Hungry, Daddy."

"Daddy knows, sweetie."

"Wan' cartoons."

"And you can have them. But lunch first, alright, sweetie?"

"Hungry."

 

Steve smiled. He loved how Tony was more accepting of his daily needs like this. When he was Older Tony, work came first, even if it meant eating and sleeping fell by the wayside. But right now, he was very adamant that those were met.

 

He walked to the kitchen, stopping in the living room to put Tony in his special seat. Taking out the milk, he warmed it on the stove before pouring it into the bottle. Clicking the TV on his way back, he sat down next to Tony on the couch. Pulling the pacifier out and replacing it with the bottle, he rocked Tony slowly while he fed him. He took the bottle once it was empty, replacing it with the pacifier again. He looked over at his bag anxiously. Only a few minutes after he finished, there was a quiet knock on the door. Checking to make sure Tony was still engrossed by the dancing sponge (?), he got up to answer it. Sure enough, Phil was on the other side, toting a rather large suitcase behind him.

 

"Phil! Come in, come in."

 

He did, and sat the suitcase upright by the door. Steve had already had the diaper bag waiting.

\---------

He knew he had gone over the top with his instructions, but he couldn't help it. His anxiety had shot back up once Phil arrived, and he wanted to be _absolutely sure_ his sweetie was taken care of.

 

"His cartoon time is over in about half and hour. I just finished feeding him, so he'll probably need a change by then. There's a light blue, almost flat button over the towel rack in the bathroom that brings out the changing table. No more cartoons after that. He may seem upset at first, but give him his bear, that usually calms him right down. After cartoon time is when he wants his toys, which are in the gray container by the diaper bag. Watch that he doesn't chew on any of them. Speaking of chew, make sure he has a fresh pacifier about every fifteen minutes. He may chew on them a little bit while he sucks, and they might start to lose their shape. If that happens, he'll probably spit it out and suck his thumb instead, and that's dirty. You'll know when it's dinner time, because he'll let you know. I have milk in a clear, cylindrical container on the top shelf of the fridge. Heat it on the stove, not in the microwave; it heats thoroughly that way. Only one bottle a sitting, two makes his stomach upset. After that, burp him, and then just put him back in his special seat on the couch and rock him; slowly, because if you do it too quick he might get sick. He'll relax, and it's easier for him to take a bath like that. Don't fill the tub, and make sure the water is warm, not too cold and not too hot. Keep one hand on him when you wash him, it calms down his anxiousness. Rub his neck while you wash his hair. Special towels, soap, and shampoo are in his bag. Make sure you lotion him before you put on his diaper so he doesn't chafe. Let him pick his pajamas before the bath, and pop them in the dryer to warm them. His nursery is next to my bedroom, and JARVIS will unlock it for you. Speaking of which, don't speak to JARVIS. He knows all of the important cues and will do them without vocal prompting. Everything is in the diaper bag right here. Am I forgetting something? Sweet Mary and Joseph I'm forgetting something, what am I forgetting it's probably important-"

 

Phil put a hand on his arm to calm him.

 

"Steve, you're not forgetting anything. You're just anxious and upset that you have to leave Tony. I don't want to tell you not to worry, because it's pointless, but just remember that you can trust me, right?"

"I-I-I know I can. But God, do I dislike Fury right now."

"I do to for causing you this much stress when supposed to be getting rid of it. But don't worry. I made him promise that he wouldn't bother you or Tony at all during the remainder of your weekend."

"One question, Phil. I'm not trying to be rude, but Tony can't walk when he's like this, and you...well..."

"Aren't strong enough?"

"I don't mean to be blunt-"

"It's fine. That's why I brought this."

 

He cracked open the suitcase and pulled out a folded up...adult-sized stroller?

 

"Where did you get that?"

"Well, it's normally used for transporting fragile loads around the Helicarrier, but I improvised, added cushioning from one of the standard rolling chairs, and tucked a soft blanket over those. It's not perfect, but..."

"Phil, that's amazing! Can I...keep it?"

"Of course. It's all yours if you like."

"Thank you, Phil. Come on, I have to say bye to my sweetie."

 

He led Phil towards the living room. Tony reacted immediately, turning red and shifting. He hurried over to shush him.

 

"It's alright, sweetie. Daddy asked Uncle Phil to come and keep you safe while he's gone."

 

Tony's eyes went wide, and  tears started to flow down his face. He raised his arms and hiccupped. Steve unsnapped his seat and picked him up. He held the back of his head, and bounced him up and down.

 

"Shhh. Don't cry sweetie. Daddy's not leaving you forever. He just has to talk to someone for a while, alright?"

"No!"

"I understand, sweetie. Daddy wants to stay with you. But someone needs to talk to Daddy, and Daddy wants to make sure his sweetie is safe. Can you say hi to Uncle Phil?"

"No! No Phil! Want Daddy!"

"And Daddy wants you. He'll be right back, alright? Now can you say hi?"

 

Tony peeked out from his neck, and looked over his shoulder at Phil. Phil obviously knew what he was doing, because he didn't approach Tony. He stood a little away, stance non-threatening and relaxed. Steve could feel Tony starting to relax as well, though he still didn't speak. Phil didn't move any closer, but spoke in a very quiet voice.

 

"Hi, Tony. It's nice to meet you. I'm Uncle Phil."

 

Steve was impressed. by introducing himself, he temporarily separated the ties between himself and Older Tony and himself and Baby Tony. Tony relaxed further, and gave a small 'hi' in return. Phil reached behind him and picked up the bear, taking care not to squeeze or shake it and offered it to Tony. Tony grabbed it from over Steve's shoulder, and curled up with it, obviously satisfied that the man meant no harm to him or his headspace.

 

"There we go. Now sweetie, you need to let Uncle Phil take care of you, and I'll read you three stories instead of one when I come home, okay?"

 

Tony perked up.

 

"Story?"

"That's right sweetie. Story."

"Story!"

"Alright, sweetie. Daddy will be sure to make it home for story-time."

 

Tony hugged Steve around his neck.

 

"Sweetie love Daddy."

 

Steve hugged him back.

 

"And Daddy loves his sweetie."

\--------

 Steve was going to wring Fury's neck.

 

His whole presence wasn't anything more than what he thought. But instead of buying war bonds, he was convincing them to let SHIELD enter their borders. And the worst part was that they hadn't had a recess yet, so he couldn't call to check on his sweetie. Should he have written down his instructions? What if Phil fed him two bottles and he got sick? What if he didn't change him and he got diaper rash? Oh, God, what if he messed up his bath and now he's having a panic attack-

 

"We'll recess for a few minutes. Be back here in ten."

 

He shot up like he was on fire and ran to the bathroom. He dialed his phone so fast he thought the screen might shatter under the force. It only rang once before Phil answered.

 

"Hello?"

"It's Steve. Is Tony okay? Did I forget something? Should I leave-"

"Steve. Tony's fine. As a matter of fact, Tony? Do you want to talk to Daddy?"

"Daddy!"

 

Steve could have cried he was so relieved.

 

"Hi, sweetie. Daddy's almost done, and then he'll be home, alright?"

"Story!"

"I remember, sweetie. Which jammies did you pick?"

"Blue."

 

Steve smiled. The blue ones were covered in little robots. He wished he could see him right now.

 

"I'll be home in a flash, sweetie."

\-------

Fury had looked livid when he said that he was leaving, but had quickly sobered up by the look in Steve's eyes. It was a look that he never even thought Rogers was capable of; a look of someone who was coldly furious down to the core. The words he shot to Fury were as cold and sharp as the ice that he had been encased in for seven decades.

 

"I don't appreciate your tone, Fury. You're lucky Phil convinced me to come at all. You have the nerve to bring me here to make me relive my damn pageant days, and then be upset when I want to leave. Well, this Star Spangled Man With a Plan plans to get the hell back home so I can _hopefully_ enjoy the rest of my weekend in some goddamn peace. You interrupted my de-stress time. Don't expect a calm and chipper Rogers. You're lucky I didn't choose to just beat up your agents and spit on your boots."

 

With that he left, ignoring the shocked glances of the diplomats and agents re-entering the room. To hell with it. He stayed and did his goddamn job.

 

 He was driving like Hydra was chasing him when he sped past a small store. He stopped suddenly (apologizing to the driver who swerved behind him) and turned into a parking space in front of the shop.

 

This was going to make up for it for sure.

\-------

 

He walked into the elevator and stopped short. Clint and Natasha were in the elevator, eyebrows raised. He drew his best poker face, and strolled into the elevator.

 

"Wooooow. Look who's put of the sex dungeon early."

"Clint."

"What? He looks quite cleaned up for someone who's been laying in bed for almost a day and a half."

 

Steve was too frustrated to blush, and his words came out more growled than he had meant them to. He really wanted to just go home. It was almost six, and Tony's bedtime was at seven-thirty. He needed to get his story in, and add the extra two he had promised.

 

"Clint. I know that you're trying to get a rise out of me to find out what we do. But what we do is our business, and there's a reason we don't share it with you; we don't want or have to. Drop it."

 

Clint's face morphed into shock, and both Natasha's eyebrows met her hairline.

 

"Wow. Someone's cranky. I thought the whole idea was for you to _de-_ stress."

"It's hard to when I have Fury calling me to perform like a fucking dancing monkey and two of my teammates invading my privacy."

"We're just trying to-"

"Stop. Trying. To. And if I find that you've been hanging around near our vents, even if the are sound-proofed and sealed off for that very reason, I will still beat you the hell up, Natasha or no Natasha."

 

He raised his hands in mock surrender.

 

"Will you at least tell me what's in the numerous packages?"

"Art supplies."

"And we saw Coulson walk in with a huge suitcase towards your room. What's in it?"

"Your mother's body hair."

 

He walked out of the elevator, ignoring both Clint's cries of indignation and Natasha's snorts of mirth.

 

"Who the fuck taught him that?"

"He's from the slums of Brooklyn, and he was in the Army. Who said he was taught?"

\----------

He walked through the door, and breathed a sigh of relief. He was back in his safe place. Now he could live out the rest of his weekend with his sweetie and nobody else. He spotted Phil on the couch, reading. The baby monitor was next to him, and he looked up, smiling gently.

 

"He's waiting for a story."

"I know."

"I take it those are apology gifts? Lots and Lots of apology gifts?"

 

Steve merely smiled and headed towards the nursery. Just like Phil said, his sweetie was steadfastly trying to stay awake, despite him obviously being tired. He saw Steve and squealed with joy. He smiled wide and picked him up, holding him by his bottom so that he was looking down at him.

 

"Daddy!"

"There's my sweetie. Were you good for Uncle Phil?"

 

He nodded, and Steve brought him back down so he could snuggle into the crook of his neck.

 

"Story."

"I know, sweetie. But do you want to see the presents Daddy brought back?"

 

Tony bounced excitedly.

 

"Presents!"

 

Steve smiled wider. Tony had blushed when asked about his enthusiasm of receiving presents. He had muttered that he had always gifted things to people, and loved to do so, but...had just once wanted someone to give him a gift, even if it was small. People assumed he 'had everything' and that he didn't need one. That's why he liked his stuffed bear. It was a gift genuinely given just because, not out of obligation or hopes of something in return.

 

He bounced Tony over to the pile of parcels and let him open them. He ripped the paper apart  rather messily, but Steve was there to clear it out as he went. Tony was delighted to find an abundance of soft things (he liked soft things when he was in his headspace, as  he spent most of his time out of it surrounded by hard materials and surfaces). New blankets, new pacifiers (one which he wanted in his mouth instantly; it was a blue and gold one he knew he'd love), and an abundance of new soft, plushies. He picked them up one by one, testing them with an adorable look on his face. But it was when he picked up the last bear that he found his favorite.

 

It was a blonde bear with the softest fur. It eyes were light blue marbles, and its paws had little pillows on the inside.

 

"It's a Daddy bear. Now you have one to match your other one. Do you like it, sweetie?"

 

Tony nodded enthusiastically. He reached upwards, and Steve scooped him up first, before leaning down to grab the bear. And when he fell asleep after the third story, snuggled under his favorite blankie, both bears were held tight to his chest.

\----------

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daddy Steve reflects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. Steve gets hella angsty, but I figured it was coming sooner or later. I'm so sorry.

\-------

**SATURDAY-**

 

It was raining lightly outside when Steve woke up. It was ten o'clock in the morning, which Steve was thankful for. It meant that Tony had slept through the night. He didn't usually have nightmares in his headspace, but if his subconscious decided to terrorize him, it usually meant long nights rocking his sweetie back to sleep.

 

He hopped in the shower, allowing the hot water to soothe his taught muscles. Most of the frustration from last night had ebbed once he had put his sweetie to sleep. But the lingering memories had kept him a little tense. He hopped out of the shower, getting dressed and taking care of all his other hygienic activities. But once he left the bathroom, he worried a bit. Tony would usually be up by now. He decided to just quietly peek his head in to check on him...

 

To find him not there.

 

If the super-serum didn't prevent things like that from happening, he would swear he had a heart-attack.

\-----

He ran from room to room, looking everywhere. He knew JARVIS wouldn't let Tony out while he was in his headspace, and that Tony would wake him if he came out of it. Mary and Joseph, where did he go? He vaguely remembered letting him crawl around while he was playing a few days ago. Damnit. If he was crawling around, God knows where he could be right now. And he probably was crawling with a full diaper, so he had to grab him before he got diaper rash. And he needed a morning bath; he had been coughing a little during the night, and he knew steam would help with that. But he had to find him first. He listened for sniffling, coughing, shifting, _anything,_ but by the time he caught a sound a new sound was erupting.

 

 Wailing sobs.

 

He hurried to the kitchen where they had came from, and found his sweetie in distress. He had his brown teddy in his hand, but the blonde teddy was under a low stool. By the position of the stool and Tony's wails of must have been pain, he figured that Tony must have hit his head when trying to reach for the bear. His pacifier was missing, his diaper was most likely wet, and he was absolutely _covered_ in dust, which caused him to sneeze and cough in between cries. He rushed to pick him up, cradling him into the crook of his neck.

 

"Shhh, sweetie. Look at you! You scared Daddy senseless."

"I-I-I'm sorry! Wanted to play!"

 

He continued to hiccup despite Steve's bouncing, and Steve made little hums to try and soothe him, to no avail.

 

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

"H-hurts!"

 

Baby Tony obviously was much more truthful about his injuries than Older Tony. He would deny his injuries until he passed out, and then demand that he only take a few days off after that.

 

"Oh, sweetie. Where does it hurt?"

"H-head! Hurts, Daddy!"

 

Steve kissed the top of his head despite the dirt, and rubbed his back.

 

"Well, let's get you cleaned up. We'll make sure to take care of your head first, alright, sweetie?"

"No! Want Daddy Bear!"

 

Steve crouched down to retrieve the bear. It was more dust covered than Tony, and needed a quick wash. Hopefully, Tony would understand.

 

"Daddy Bear needs a bath, just like you, sweetie."

"No!"

"Don't worry, sweetie. We'll make sure he's done by the time you are. And then you'll both feel better."

 

Tony seemed to reluctantly agree to this, if only because he wanted his bear to feel better. Once he was sure he had convinced Tony that Daddy Bear would be alright, he walked to the laundry room. He made sure to only put him on a delicate cycle, because not only did it need to be done by the time Tony was, he was sure that if anything happened to the bear he would shriek himself hoarse.

\-------

Once Tony was bathed, dried, suited into a fresh diaper, and his Daddy Bear had been given back, Steve had taken Tony to feed him. He had crushed up two Tylenols into a fine powder, and mixed them in with his usual morning bottle (adding extra vanilla to mask the bitter taste). The milk did the trick, and soon Tony was contently sucking on his pacifier in his crib where he belonged. After that horrible experience, Steve decided to take a few minutes to calm down. Tony _had_ given him a frightful scare. But it was sort of good for him, guilty as it made him. During a battle, if Tony was smashed, or shot down, or thrown, he couldn't drop everything and rush to him. But if he got hurt now, he could coo and nurse to his heart's content. Speaking of nursed, he hoped Tony wasn't getting sick. But he might be. It was _long_ overdue. The man fought them off through sheer will most of the time. It would make sense that his exhaustion would catch up to him when he finally decided to rest. So he got all the necessities ready just in case. Cough syrup to sneak into his bottle, a heated blanket, and ice packs.

 

Sitting down on the couch, he leaned his head back. Saturday's were usually quiet, with Tony far in his headspace and therefore lazy and content to sleep, eat, and sleep some more. Steve smiled.

 

This really was heavenly. When they first started out, they were awkward and twitchy, always wondering when they would do something to send the other away screaming. But as they did it more and more often, they fell into a routine that just felt right. They both got what they wanted, and neither had to worry about the other doing anything they weren't comfortable with. The bond and trust Tony had given him had brought him close to tears.

 

It was always the same. Tony would gravitate closer as it grew nearer, touching more and allowing himself to be cuddled and hugged (by Steve). Steve would throw an arm around Tony readily, and in return to Tony's gravitation, he would pull him in closer. No one really noticed the difference, not even Clint, but it was a subtle shift into the weekend personas that they always recognized.

 

And as the day went on, and Steve fed Tony his milk, gave him his pacifier, changed his diaper, and everything else that would make other people step back, disgusted over doing that to a grown man, he never felt calmer or more content. He felt like Steve Rogers.

 

And no one else.

\--------

True to his word, Phil made sure there were no calls from SHIELD during the day. So in between taking care of his sweetie, Steve could read to his heart's content, or watch the occasional sports game or movie (on low volume so he didn't wake his sweetie), or catch up on any news he missed using his tablet. These were the days he lived for. No interruptions. No racing back and forth. No tight costumes. No explosions, be them flames or cameras. No media. Just himself. Just Steve Rogers.

 

Steven Grant Rogers, who wasn't required to fulfill Captain America's duties. Steve Rogers, who could put his feet on the table if he wanted. Who could walk around in sweats all day. Who could cuss without people being scandalized (he was from Brooklyn _and_ he was a soldier. The hell did they expect, a proper Englishman?).Who could just run his hands through his hair without brushing it into that stupid curl (that's why he cut it. Again, people were scandalized). Who could eat junk food, not that bland crap people always imagined he ate. Who could sleep in if he wanted, when he wanted. He might choose to go to bed early. He could stay up late and get up later. Or he could nap during the day, wherever the hell he chose. 

 

So suck it.

 

Yes, in between taking care of Tony, he lived the life of an ordinary twenty-six year old from Brooklyn. Captain America was a living legend, and that legend was not him. And he was totally alright with that. At least for now. And when the weekend was over, he would don the cowl and fight the good fight like the good little soldier he was. Like the good little soldier he was expected to be.

 

Like the good little soldier he would always have to be.

 

The title would not go away, not even in death. They would give him a memorial, and the name Steve Rogers would only be mentioned in passing. Captain America did this. Captain America did that. That was how he would be remembered. As Captain America.

 

Steve Rogers would fade away, just like him. 

 

But then he heard snuffling and whining coming from Tony's nursery. He smiled.

 

His sweetie needed him.

 

His sweetie needed Steve Rogers

\------


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby Tony doesn't feel well, and Daddy Steve learns that medicine tastes like shit.

\------

_**SUNDAY-** _

 

Steve sighed. He had predicted this.

 

Just as he thought, Tony had come down with what he assumed was a cold. Thankfully it didn't seem to be anything serious, but it would be bothersome for a few days. Tony was huddled against Steve, hiding in his chest. The blanket over him was creating a make-shift cocoon that Tony proceeded to hide in. Steve rubbed Tony's head gently. When Tony spoke, it came out muffled and stuffy sounding.

 

"You have to eat, sweetie."

"Don' wanna."

"It'll make you feel better."

" 's gross."

"I know, but it'll help you. Can you drink it for Daddy, sweetie?"

"...No."

 

Steve sighed again. He didn't want to force it, but the medicine would help with his throat and clear up some of the congestion. He needed to drink his bottle.

 

"What if Daddy drinks some?"

"....'s gross."

"But if Daddy drinks some, he'll have to taste the same thing, sweetie."

"....Daddy drink?"

"Promise."

"...Daddy first."

 

Steve looked at the bottle and winced. It looked like a regular bottle, but the color was wrong. No matter what he did, there was no offsetting the orange tint that showed through. He hadn't tasted cold medication in a _long_ time. Matter a fact, he didn't think he ever did. As a kid, they couldn't afford it, and as an adult/super-soldier, he never needed it.

 

Rumor was it tasted _awful._

 

But Tony was looking up at him with defiant, expectant,  brown doe eyes, and he promised...

 

So he took a swig.

 

And promptly chocked.

 

It tasted _horrific._

 

The orange flavor they placed on the bottle was a total lie. This was pure, bitter syrup, and it was obvious why Tony didn't like it. He tried to keep a straight face as he gagged, his mouth rejecting the flavor. Tony was staring at him with a smug smile.

 

"Daddy doesn't like it. So I don't wanna either."

"Sweetie, you-*gag*-promised you would drink it with Daddy. I'll make you fresh milk with marshies if you drink it."

 

Tony's eyes widened, and he looked torn. He _loved_ when there were marshmallows blended in with his milk, and Steve didn't give it to him that often because it was bad for his teeth. But...the medicine tasted so bad that even _Daddy_ didn't like it. In the end, marshies won out, and Tony reluctantly put his mouth around the nipple of the bottle. He had to take breaks to gag at the flavor, but he finished it. Steve took him to the bathroom, and set him on the sink. He then started brushing his teeth; making sure to brush his tongue to get the last of the yucky taste out. Afterwards, Tony raised his arms up, and Steve knew he was doomed. He knew it was unhealthy, but...his sweetie loved them and he had told him that he would make him one.

 

He picked him up again, resting him on his hip. Tony whacked his chest to get his attention. Steve looked at him curiously.

 

"What's wrong, sweetie?"

"Blue jammies first."

"The ones with the robots are dirty, sweetie. You wore them-"

" _No. New_ blue jammies."

 

His eyes widened, and a soft smile stretched over his face. He had bought them on a whim, but tucked them away, fearing his sweetie wouldn't like wearing them. They were long sleeved, fluffy, and designed like his newer costume. He liked that one better; less flash, and more...room in the privates. He didn't even know they were selling them; people seemed more interested in the bright read, white and blue ones. But Tony seemed adamant on wearing them, whacking Steve on the chest.

 

"Daddy. Blue jammies."

"What about after a bath, sweetie? I'll get you a new bottle, and _then_ I'll put on your new jammies. Wouldn't want them to get dirty, right?"

 

Tony looked pacified with this answer, and allowed Steve to carry him to the kitchen. He put Tony into the nifty stroller Phil had brought (it was fantastic; he could set down Tony close to where he was without worrying if he would fall). He took out the bag of marshmallows, and upon seeing them, Tony bounced in excitement. Steve sighed. This was so unhealthy; but his sweetie loved them and his adorable excited face was too powerful to ignore. He poured the usual ingredients into a blender, and the then poured in a tablespoon of sugar, and the coveted marshmallows. He put the lid on, and blended it until all of the ingredients were properly blended, and the result was a soft, white paste. He then poured the paste into a pot of boiling water to thin it. After that was done, he poured the concoction into a bottle, shook it to check the consistency, and set it down. Pulling Tony out of the stroller, he grabbed the offensive bottle (and had to readjust Tony as he kept reaching for it), and walked back to the chair. After wrapping the blanket back around them, Tony happily sucked on the bottle, paying no mind to the fact that it was thicker than normal. The soft rocking back and forth was obviously relaxing him, which was what he was hoping. This usually kept the sugar rush at bay. After he was done, he took the guilty bottle (that damn concoction; it made him feel like a bad Daddy for giving it to him), stuck a thermometer in his mouth (101.5; damnit) and stuck a blue pacifier towards his lips, which Tony pulled in immediately.

 

With Tony fed, he decided that a bath wouldn't hurt, and the steam would help his throat. So he drew a bath that was a little warmer than usual, and closed the door all the way to keep the steam in. It was obvious that it was working, Tony was drawing in deeper breaths than before, and having the sweat wiped away should help him sleep better.

 

After getting Tony into his fresh diaper, he ran into the room, grabbing one of the discarded parcels. He smiled and jogged back. Tony wiggled happily, and Steve zipped up the jammies. Tony looked ecstatic, and reached for Steve. Steve picked him up, cradling Tony in the hollow of his neck.

 

"Wan' cartoons."

"A little later, sweetie. How about a nap first?"

"Not tired."

 

His statement was made invalid by a yawn so large, he squeaked towards the end.

 

"You don't feel well, do you, sweetie?"

"...Tired."

"That's alright. You're a little sick, sweetie. That's why Daddy made you drink that gross medicine for breakfast."

"... 's gross."

"Yes, it kind of is. But it's to make you feel better."

".... 's gross."

 

Steve chuckled a bit. He bounced Tony on the way to his nursery, Tony sucking happily on a fresh pacifier. Once he laid down, he pulled the electric blanket over him.

 

"Are you hot, or are you cold, sweetie?"

"... 's cold, Daddy."

"Alright."

 

Steve turned on the blanket slightly, as not to overheat Tony.

 

"We'll watch cartoons if you feel better when you wake up, alright sweetie?"

"Alright, Daddy."

 

Steve leaned over to lay a kiss on Tony's forehead. Tony rolled over to accept it, and promptly fell asleep. Steve smiled. He was glad Tony slept during their weekends. He needed it badly. He turned the little carousel on by his crib, and let the soft, tinkling music fill the nursery, and smiled as his sweetie burrowed deeper into the blanket, humming around his pacifier.

 

Steve smiled, and went to wash out that damn bottle.

\-------

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The weekend's over, and Steve and Tony are ready to face the world again; perfectly refreshed and ready to fight. READ CHAPTER NOTE PLZ.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking through this whatever this was with me. :3 For all of you who gave me kudos, and the truly _wonderful_ people who commented (I love your support. I love you), you all get virtual slices of cake and hugs. Why cake? Because it is the end of my first longer-than-two-chapters fic! So cake for everybody!
> 
> And I actually like writing this universe (It's a guilty pleasure of mine-I love it so), so if any of you actually have any requests of something you'd like to see Daddy Steve and his sweetie Tony do together that I didn't put in the fic, tell me! It'd make my day!
> 
> *Dons party hat* Onward with the final chapter!

\-------

Steve groaned and rolled over, halting when he rolled partially on top of something.

 

Or someone.

 

"Mph! Damnit Steve, get off! Your two-hundred pounds of muscle is fucking squishing me!"

"Jeez! Sorry, Tony."

 

He rolled back over, and let Tony sit up. Tony stretched his arms over his head, and ran a hand through his hair. He smirked over at Steve after a moment.

 

"It's fucking Monday, Steve."

"Yep."

"God, I hate Mondays."

"Normally I would disagree, but I have to agree with you right now."

"I thought you would. So, how was it? I kinda dropped off on Friday."

"You were sweet as can be, Tony."

"You always say that. I know there had to have been a tantrum in there somewhere. I'm Tony Fucking Stark. It's what I do."

"Obviously not a baby. You're docile as a lamb."

 

Tony looked torn between looking offended, embarrassed, and complimented. So he just huffed and turned away, climbing out of bed. While Tony was in the shower, Steve went through the apartment and put everything back in it's place. All of the supplies went back into the bag, and the bag went back into the closet. He poured out the rest of the milk (no use saving it, it's a recipe solely for that purpose), and unlocked all of the 'dangerous' drawers. The seat and stroller were hidden in their cases. After making sure that all evidence was put away, he walked over to his duffel and pulled out his suit and shield. He hung the pieces of the suit (to be pressed later; 'no, Tony, it is not pointless'), and set the shield back by the door. By the time he was done, Tony had finished showering and grooming. He was about to take his turn when, of course, the call to assemble went off.

 

"Oh, for fuck's sake. I _just_ showered."

\------

"Look who's out of the sex dungeon!"

"Can it, Merida."

"It's all good. I'm not judging."

"You can't. When was the last time _you_ got laid?"

 

Clint had no response to that, choosing instead to grumble from his position on the top of a building. He shook his head, and returned his vigil on the creature they were fighting against. It had no solid form, it seemed, besides the numerous purple tentacles that were waving madly from every side. The supposed creator was cackling madly from his point next to it, shouting directions to it that he couldn't tell how it heard, because as far as he could tell, it had no ears. Or brain. Nothing seemed to be affecting it, either bouncing off of it, or being engulfed. He was hesitant to use his shield, because the last time he did, he almost didn't get it back.

 

"Ew. It looks like that kid was watching one of those fucking shark movies, and decided to mix an octopus and some lemon Jello and nuke the shit out of it. Seriously, every science experiment we fight, they're getting more and more ridiculous. Now they're just taking random shit and smashing it together for the sake of being a mad scientist OH, GODDAMNIT-"

"Iron Man!"

 

Steve watched in horror as the mass of gelatinous fluid and tentacles grabbed Tony by the boot, spun him around like nunchucks, and flung him at and through a nearby office building. Said building collapsed on him seconds later, and Tony didn't reply to Steve's inquiries. The seconds seemed like hours as he waited with his breath held for any sign that he was alright. When a string of curses the length of him filled his ear, he almost sagged in relief.

 

"DAMNIT! I'm fine, Cap. But this boot is toast. I can due some in-filed repairs, but you're gonna have buy me about four minutes. Even that's not going to help much."

"Do you need to evacuate?"

"No. I just can't let the piece of shit grab me again. T-minus three minutes until I'm airborne, Cap."

"Roger that."

 

Steve turned back to where he was watching the ball of slime. It was...rather gross. It crawled, and engulfed anything in it's path. The tentacles were waving about, and the noise it was making made him cringe in disgust.

 

"Jesus, that is fucking nasty. I don't even know where to hit the son of a bitch. It swallows my arrows!"

"And I can't get close enough to use the Widow's Bites, though I doubt they be very effective."

"It's fine, Widow. Just make sure to clear the area of civilians."

"Got it."

 

It wasn't long before a familiar streak was seen in the sky, albeit a little slower than usual. Tony's voice rang out over the comms.

 

"Alright, bitches! It's time to take a trip back to third grade."

"Aw! I hated third grade!"

"Can it, Hawkass. Anyway. You know, when we would learn about electricity and shit? Well, that's what you lesser folk were learning about-"

"Spit it out, Iron Ass."

"Fine. Heathen. Anyway, what did they tell you happens when you electrify something wet and/or gelatinous?"

"It catches fire and...explodes!"

"Exactly. Thor, Hawkeye, I need you two to give help me. Give it everything you've got."

"Hell yes!"

"Merrily!"

 

Steve watched on anxiously as the three shot everything they had at the creature, and backed up slowly as it started to jiggle ominously.

 

"Um...guys..."

"Shh, Cap. It's working!"

"Wait...Iron Man-"

"Eat it! Uh oh. SHIT. Here comes the explosion part, everybody get down-"

\-------

They all sat in the conference room, tired, irritated, and absolutely covered in yellow goo and purple tentacle bits. They had hit the decontamination showers, but there was only so much you could do there, as it seemed to have caked onto their skin. They needed proper soap, shampoo, loofahs, etc. And the worst part was that with every minute they spent outside a shower, the worse the smell got.

 

"This....is so fucking gross. I smell like a port-a-potty, the sewers, and some rotten eggs had a three-way."

"That visual id fucking disturbing, but I agree whole-heartedly."

"You have some fucking nerve! You were in the suit!"

"But now I have to _clean_ said suit. And since you _don't_ have a doctorate in Engineering, you can't even _begin_ to understand the dangers and difficulties of cleaning some college kid's embodiment of self-esteem issues and power mania out of intricate pieces of something that complex. It's not _Lego,_ Legolas. It's almost three-hundred pounds of cutting-edge machinery."

 

He tuned out the inevitable argument that came with those two being in the same room as each other, instead looking towards Natasha. She was her usual epitome of grace and precision, but he could see some of the deeply buried disgust in her expression.

 

"I hope this washes off."

"For the sake of that young man's genitals, it better. If I have to, for any reason, cut/shave anything off of my person, I will repay him in kind anyway I wish."

 

He prayed a small prayer for the young boy, before sitting up in his chair to address Fury.

 

Fury took one sniff and promptly told them to 'get the fuck off the Helicarrier'.

\-------

After about three hours of relentless scrubbing, three bottles of body wash, two bottles of shampoo/conditioner, and a thorough inspection later, he fell into the Penthouse bed with a deep sigh of contentment. Tony grumbled next to him, too tired to even go down to the workshop. He had JARVIS monitor the initial 'decontamination spray-down', and left the heavy working for tomorrow. He rolled over to spoon Tony, and almost fell asleep when he spoke up.

 

"Steve."

 

Steve let out an inquisitive grunt (Tony found it hilarious how... _rude_ he could be when he was tired enough and in a safe enough place).

 

"Steve."

"What, Tony."

"When should we schedule the next weekend?"

"Sleep now. Schedule later. No more talking."

"Wow, Steve-"

"Shhhhhhh."

 

Tony rolled his eyes good-naturedly and settled against his chest. Steve returned the sentiment by clutching him closer to his chest, arms around his waist. Within minutes, both were asleep, feeling refreshed despite the struggle the day had brought. Even when they got thrown, blasted, smashed, or rolled, as long as they were both alive, they would make it through together.

 

And their means were their own little secret.

\----------

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
